A Midnight Meeting
written by:
Otazel

A MIDNIGHT MEETING.

I felt horny and frustrated, although feeling that way didn't seem to be anything unusual just lately. That was basically because I'd lost my job a few months ago and my wife, Ellie, apparently felt that sex with man who is out of work was beneath her. Okay, so it was my own fault that I'd become unemployed, but there are times when bosses treat their workers with just too little respect, and mine had. Sarcastic remarks over my wanting a couple of hours off to see an emergency dentist in order to get a missing filling replaced had been the last straw, and I must admit that I did enjoy seeing him sitting on the floor looking bewildered, with blood dripping from his nose and my clenched fist held in front of him as a warning of more to follow.

Ellie appeared to think that I ought to have let him carry on calling me a wimp for not wanting to put up with raging toothache, but perhaps she hadn't realised that this was just the latest in a long line of managerial put-downs I'd taken from him. But whatever she thought, she used it as a reason to call a sex strike until I was back in employment. Not that she'd explicitly said so, but every time I made advances, she pushed me away, claiming to be too tired after working at her part time bar job three evenings a week. Strange that, because previously she'd regularly been as randy as a rabbit before when she came home. I could tell things had changed when she began wearing a nightie all of a sudden, and in midsummer too. I refused to play her game, I still slept nude, when I could sleep at all that is. You tend to punish yourself enough for being out work, without having your wife promptly jumping on the bandwagon as well.

This particular night I lay beside her, listening to her breathing and wishing we could make love the same uninhibited way that we always had over the preceding eight years of marriage. She wasn't asleep, or I didn't think she was, but she presented me with the cold wall of her back and began breathing deeply in a pretty good imitation of slumber. I knew I was wasting my time, but I still loved her and needed the feeling of closeness with her, and so I rolled on my side and spooned against her back, hoping that she either was asleep, or was too close to it to object. Soon, lulled by the sensation of intimacy her nearness produced, I was dozing off and, right on the edge of sleep I moved closer, doing what I had naturally done countless times before, wrapping an arm around her and cupping her breast. I didn't even realise I'd done it until she spoke, her voice harsh and cold. Obviously I'd been right when I thought her awake.

‘Take your hand off me, I can do without that.'

‘Well I can't.' I told her, starting back into wakefulness. ‘I need a little love from my wife occasionally.'

‘You should have thought of that before you threw your job away.'

‘For God's sake, leave it alone won't you.'

‘I'll leave it alone when you leave me alone. You can't expect me to be the only worker in this family and then do without sleep just to satisfy your needs. You might have the energy, I don't.'

‘But you weren't working this evening.' I complained.

‘And you're not working any evening, or any other time for that matter.'

I won't go into the details of the row that followed as it was pretty much just more of the same. She claiming to be the hard done by breadwinner whilst I was the layabout husband, and me trying desperately to get her to see my side before finally I giving up and verbally lashing out just as spitefully as she did. The final straw came when she told me she needed to sleep and would I fuck off into another room and have a wank or something. I was out of bed in a flash, thoroughly pissed off and needing to go somewhere and cool down before things got completely out of control. I hauled on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, rammed my feet into a pair of shoes and headed off out, grabbing my old leather jacket from behind the door on my way out. The church clock struck midnight just as I pulled the gate shut behind me.

I ought to explain that we live in a tiny village built at the convergence of two roads leading to the local market town, and so the houses are mostly built in a kind of an arrow head shape along the two roads, facing inwards to the village green and its medieval duckpond in between. The lay of the land is such that one road, the one opposite mine, comes down a gradual slope towards the junction and that there is a steep drop from it down to the edge of the green. Below that drop and opposite my house but about sixty or seventy yards across the pond is a bench, and that is where I tend to head for whenever I need to be on my own to think things over, although not usually in the early hours.

It's funny how the dark and the peaceful stillness of night can calm things down almost immediately, and by the time I'd walked around the apex of the green and was headed for my thinking seat I'd already stopped muttering and sulking.

That turned out to be just as well, for when I got there I found that somebody had beaten me to it. It was so unexpected to find someone there at that time of night that I hadn't even contemplated the possibility and their presence didn't initially register. It wasn't until I was a couple of yards or so away that I looked to see where to sit, and then stopped dead when I saw this person already sitting right in the middle of the bench.

It was the woman from the couple who had moved into one of the much bigger and more modern village houses on the higher road only a couple of months earlier. I didn't know them, but they seemed a nice enough couple, she smiled and he nodded whenever they passed people in the street. He was a little bit older than she was, maybe in his mid fifties, a bit of a bank manager type of person, red faced and pompous, his complexion speaking of a life dedicated to the brandy bottle, but having said that, I always found him to be pleasant enough. She herself was, I guess, around early fortyish, about ten or a dozen years older then I was, slim and elegant with blonde hair and blue eyes, although her brown eyebrows revealed that the blonde probably wasn't altogether natural. It must be said that she wasn't particularly elegant this time though. She was dressed in just a dark jacket thrown over a knee length white silk nightie and slippers. She'd obviously come out on the spur of the moment just as I had.

I'd spoken to her briefly perhaps two or three times since they'd moved in, and I'd found her to be very pleasant, with a ready smile and easy manner. There was nothing snobbish about her, although to afford the house they had bought they certainly weren't short of money. But that didn't help the fact that she was in what I had come to regard as my seat by the pond. When I saw her and came to a surprised and slightly surly dead halt she was already looking at me in some alarm. But I suppose I couldn't blame her for that in the dead of night and on her own, and I guess I must have looked still ready to do battle with somebody. I felt I just had to try and reassure her, although I didn't really choose quite the right words and they came out a bit more gruffly than I intended.

‘Oh, hi! Don't worry; I'm not the local rapist on the prowl.'

‘I'm glad to hear it.' She answered carefully, looking at me a little sideways. ‘But you'd hardly say you were, would you?'

‘No, I suppose not. Sorry, that didn't come out too well, did it?'

‘Not if you were trying to set my mind at rest, no.' She smiled thinly, looking maybe just a little less apprehensive. ‘You're the man from across the green, aren't you?'

‘Yes.' I confirmed. ‘The fourth cottage along after the post office.'

‘Well I don't suppose any self-respecting rapist give me his address, or would be looking for victims at this time of night for that matter, so I guess I'm pretty safe.' She didn't sound as though she altogether believed it, though she was starting to relax a little.

‘Truth to be told.' I began again. ‘I've just had a row with my wife and so I've come out of the way for a bit. I tend to come here to cool down.'

‘And I've come out to get a little relief from my husband's drunken snoring, so I suppose we've got something in common. But if I've stolen your usual seat you're more than welcome to join me.' She indicated the bench beside her, the explanation seeming to reassure her. ‘I could use a little company, I'm not used to being out on my own at night.'

‘Thanks, I will.' I sat down next to her. ‘Nice to meet you, I'm Matt.' I thought I ought to introduce myself.

‘Francesca.' She looked across and smiled, more openly this time. ‘But just Fran to any midnight wanderers I happen to meet.'

We sat silently for a minute or two, neither of us having anything much to say, but then she spoke again.

‘We've moved from the city not long ago you know, and it's strange but being out at night never bothered me there, but here, where I know statistically I'm much safer, I don't like to be out alone.' She shrugged. ‘It's the unfamiliar sounds that do it, owls and such like.'

‘I guess it's what you grow up used to.'

‘I suppose so.' She nodded and we lapsed into silence again.

‘I thought I'd sleep well enough tonight.' She began again. ‘I was working in the garden all day and I felt bone tired when I went to bed. Strange how someone snoring in your ear can make you feel wide awake again, isn't it?'

I chuckled noncommittally.

‘We keep saying we're gong to get someone to help out a few hours a week, but we've not done anything about it yet, so I have to keep ruining my manicure, and that won't do will it? I mean, I've got appearances to keep up.'

It took me a moment or two to realise that she was joking about the manicure, making gentle fun of herself and her status in the village, and I suppose I assumed that the someone to help out bit was part of the joke too or I might have applied for the job on the spot.

‘You'll have to ask him for some gardening gloves for your birthday.' I told her with a smile, trying to be equally light-hearted.

‘What were you arguing about, if it's not too private?' She asked suddenly, changing the subject.

I paused, unsure how, or even if, I should answer. But then what the hell. ‘I'm out of work right now, and it's put a strain on our, err... personal relationship.'

‘Ah.' She nodded her understanding. ‘Conjugal rights and so on.'

‘Something like that.' I didn't want to be too explicit with a comparative stranger.

‘My problem is that John drinks, and when he's had too much he snores like a road drill. He swears he doesn't, but he does, and so several times a week I have to take sleeping pills. Trouble is I've run out at the moment.' She giggled girlishly and then added. ‘And he's not so hot on the old conjugals when he's had a few either. But then he's not a young man anymore.' Obviously she was prepared to be more open about such things than I was.

I wondered what Ellie would think if she looked across the green from our front window and spotted me talking to a woman in her nightie, especially if she knew what we were talking about. I knew it was an innocent meeting, but I wasn't sure she would see it quite that way. I was just pleased that it was night and that we were sitting too far away to be recognised.

‘Been married long?' I asked, speaking mainly to fill the silence.

‘Over twenty years.' She answered. ‘Mostly good, but it can sometimes be a bit difficult.'

‘I know the feeling.' I raised my eyebrows ruefully, but I don't think she saw it in the dark.

‘He's very set in his ways, that's the problem.' She told me. ‘I mean, he's a successful man and all that, but he's lost his sprit of adventure lately and everything is routine. Every Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday evening he has to go to the golf club and come back worse for wear. I can't remember when he last took me with him, and the last time we... well, you know. That was more than two years ago.'

That brought my three month celibacy into perspective. I don't think she would normally have been so candid, but I guess the darkness and its weird sense of anonymity gave her the confidence to unburden herself. In a way it was a confidence I must have shared, for I found myself being equally frank.

‘I get the feeling my other half is trying to punish me for losing my job.' I told her. ‘And I resent that. As if having to go without sex will make me get another one any quicker.'

‘I'm sorry to hear that, but then women are strange creatures.' She smiled at me in the darkness. ‘Especially as by making you go without she also has to do without herself.'

‘I hope so.' I voiced a thought that had been nagging at me without my even realising it.

Fran turned her head to look at me and I saw her open her mouth to reply, but just at that moment a nearby vixen uttered one of its bloodcurdling screams and she jumped, looking wildly around her and grabbing at my hand in fear.

‘What the hell was that?' She asked, looking shaken.

I shook my head. ‘It's only a fox. She's calling for her mate.'

The vixen called again and nails dug into my hand. ‘Christ.' She gasped. ‘And they say the countryside is peaceful.'

‘Don't worry about it; she'd be more scared of you than the other way around. It's her mating call. She's just looking for love like everyone else.'

‘I wouldn't be so sure of that scared bit.' She told me, pausing before adding. ‘So she's having to go without as well then?'

‘I guess so.'

In the distance a dog fox barked and the vixen called in reply, her eerie sound coming from further away now.

‘Well, sounds like it worked for her.' She sounded almost envious.

‘Moral of the story. If you want something, it's no use keeping quiet about it.' I don't know why I said that, I guess I was thinking about my own approaches to Ellie.

Fran giggled. ‘I wonder what John would do if I screeched like that in our bedroom.'

‘I hate to think.' I chuckled at the image. ‘But I bet it wouldn't be what you intended. I think you might have to keep the sounds a bit more human.'

‘So do I.' She laughed. ‘So if you hear that I've been arrested for standing in the market place and shouting out for someone to go to bed with me, you'll know it was your fault.'

‘That wasn't quite what I had in mind.'

‘No, I know it wasn't.' She answered more seriously.

We slipped back into silence, sitting quietly beside each other and, for me at least, thinking about life in general and the lack of a sex life in particular. Without knowing for sure, I had the distinct impression that is what Fran was mulling over too, and that was when I suddenly noticed that she was still holding my hand.

Our hands were clasped around each other and resting on the bench between us, and what had brought it to mind was the fact that the back of her hand was resting against the side of my leg. I didn't mind, it was quite nice actually, but I did begin to wonder why she hadn't moved it. I thought that perhaps she hadn't realised, and so I moved our hands away a little, only to find the back of my hand up against her silk covered thigh. I quickly pulled away again, glancing across in alarm only to catch a quick glimpse of what I took as a tiny smile of delight at my discomfiture.

‘Sorry.' I muttered.

‘Don't be.'

She moved her leg just a little as she replied so that our hands were loosely trapped, each pressed gently against the others thigh. There was nothing accidental about the contact now. We were now sitting side by side, holding hands, touching each other's legs, albeit through clothing, and staring determinedly into the darkness, and I was becoming very aware of my front bedroom window less than a hundred yards in front of us. And yet I found I didn't want to break the contact and I had the feeling that Fran didn't want to either.

‘What did you do when you were working?' She asked me suddenly.

‘I worked for a builder's merchant, behind the trade counter.' I told her.

‘Oh.' She said. ‘Did you enjoy it?'

‘It was okay; I just had an arsehole for a boss, that's all.' I thought about it for a moment or two. ‘I used to work on a farm before that, but new technology could do my job cheaper than I could, and that was that.'

We were still holding hands and I began to get the impression that she was deliberately pressing the back of my hand harder against her thigh.

‘You've not had much luck, have you?'

‘Not a lot.'

If the message I thought I might be getting through her hand was actually for real, I began to wonder if my luck could be about to change. My heart rate responded to the thought and I felt something stirring a little behind my zip.

‘I sometimes wish I had a job.' She said suddenly. ‘It's all very well not needing to work, but it can get boring. I mean, spending all your time fundraising for Oxfam is not very exciting, is it?'

‘And are you looking for excitement?' I asked, giving her the opportunity to make any unspoken meaning clearer.

‘Sometimes.' The one word answer didn't exactly help one way or the other.

Another silence ensued and as we sat there I became more and more certain that Fran was holding my hand onto her thigh deliberately, a quick glance in my direction added to my certainty. I wanted to respond but I had to be sure, because getting it wrong could give me all sorts of problems, even though not a lot was going to happen straight in front of my own windows, now was it? But if I could be really sure that she was coming on to me maybe I could arrange to meet with her on another, more appropriate, occasion. I knew my thoughts were morally wrong, and I knew the idea that an older, wealthier lady might possibly fancy me was improbable, but my malnourished libido was pushing me on.

It was, I decided finally, now or never, but it needed to be a softly-softly approach just in case. I uncurled two fingers from within her grip and began to rub the backs of them very gently on her leg, listening for any reaction either way.

Nothing. I knew she must have noticed, must have felt them, and so, emboldened a little by the lack of any unfavourable reaction I pressed them on more firmly, overtly stroking her leg with the backs of my two fingers, determined to get her to respond. I needed to know, was I pushing my luck or would I have been turning down a golden opportunity.

This time I got a response, and it was better then I might have hoped for. She made a little noise in the back of her throat, closed her eyes and released my hand, leaving it free to stroke her leg however I liked. My heart beat quickened and I felt my mouth go dry. Did I have the nerve to push it further, and how far would I need to go before I felt able to make a date with her? A quick guilty look across to my darkened home and I placed my palm on the top of her leg, making it clear what I had in mind just to be sure there was no mistake. Her only reaction was a quiet murmur of encouragement.

I must admit that her leg did feel nice through the soft silk of her nightdress. It was slimmer than Ellie's, not skinny but just slimmer enough to notice, and firmer. Fran was a horse rider and it showed. For a few moments I just let my hand rest there, taking in the sensation and getting used to the idea of what I was doing. Then I began to run it up and down her thigh, just softly and slowly, enjoying the feeling of another woman's leg and the prospect of what might possibly be on offer. I heard Fran take in a deep breath and then exhale, as if she too was accustoming herself to another's touch.

I was getting more and more turned on and less and less concerned about my wife sleeping just across the green. No lights showed, no curtains were twitching, and anyway I was too far away to be recognised, and so I pushed my guilt to the back of my mind. Even so, as I stroked Fran's silk clad thigh I kept a weather eye on my front bedroom window, ready to instantly remove my hand if I needed to.

Soon, feeling more confident and more adventurous, my hand moved first to her knee, then over the hem of her nightdress before pushing it back to caress her naked thigh. My eyes darted from my home to Fran's face, waiting for a sign from either, and then down to her leg, showing pale in the moonlight. Fran murmured softly and unintelligibly, telling me of her compliance and encouraging me to continue my exploration. I let my hand wander, my fingers dipping between her legs, stroking the inside of her thigh. Soon I was stroking her skin more firmly, pushing my hand up between her legs until I couldn't go any further, inviting her to open them and let me in. All thoughts of my currently frigid wife were gone from my mind, now I was simply concerned with the lovely lady I whose leg I was playing with.

She knew what I wanted, and that was pretty much the same as she did, and she slid forward on the seat, leaned back and opened her legs wide, draping the nearest one over my own leg to unmistakably give me a full right of entry.

I was nervous. It was so tempting to push my hand up between her leg and to pull her panties aside so that I could play with her pussy, but it was always possible that she would change her mind if I pushed too hard too quickly and so I restrained myself, sliding my hand softly along the inside of her thigh just to where the warmth of her leg and the heat of her pussy became noticeable, and then I returned to her knee. Each time I ventured just a little further along her leg, waiting for her to stop me and feeling my heart begin to hammer as it became clear that she wasn't going to. I knew now that given the right circumstances we would make love, and so in my mind I tried to think how I could arrange those circumstances. But once again Fran was more open about such things than I was.

‘Oh, for heaven's sake do it properly.' She blurted out suddenly.

I looked across at her in surprise, but before I could react any further she had slumped further down on the seat, turned my wrist and pushed my hand right up to the join of her legs. My surprise could not have been greater, both from the unexpectedness of her action and from the fact that my hand found warm soft flesh and curly hair. I had no idea she wasn't wearing underwear.

‘I didn't bother putting any on when I got out of bed.' She explained quickly. ‘It didn't seem to matter at the time.'

I just nodded, too shocked to say anything about it or to tell her I was the same. She pressed my hand hard against her pussy, making me feel the dampness of her arousal and demonstrating exactly what she wanted. Almost instinctively I tried feeling for her clitoris while my mind took in her sudden urgency, but my hand was at too much of an awkward angle. Even so, it was clear that I had turned her on and now she needed release. I came to the conclusion that I wasn't going to be able to arrange to meet and make love to her another time (I couldn't think of it as fucking her) unless I made her come there and then, so I turned to face her, removing the awkward near hand and replacing it with my far one, the one that I could reach across to her more easily with. She turned a little to face me too, keeping her legs spread wide but with her arms coming up and encircling my neck, drawing me tight with her head resting on my shoulder, leaving herself open to my touch.

I quickly found her clitoris now, engorged with arousal and peeping out from under its hood, and I started to rub it, not hard but just very lightly strumming it with the tips of two fingers. I felt her grip around my neck tighten.

‘Yes, Matt. Yes.' She whispered into my ear.

My free arm went around her shoulders, holding her close as I carried on playing with her, rubbing her clit and all the time casting quick anxious glances across the green. I knew I was fairly safe, there had been not a sign of movement all the while I'd been out, but there was always the chance of another midnight wanderer, an insomniac who might recognise me, and even that risk had shrivelled to the point of insignificance as far as my aroused state was concerned. I was so turned on and excited that I'd reached the point of not really caring what happened now. How often do you get to play with a wealthy and beautiful woman, with the unspoken promise of more to follow? I couldn't wait to enjoy the thrill of making her come.

It didn't take long before I heard little pleasure sounds in my ear, tiny gasps as my fingers worked their magic. I increased my pace, rubbing her a little more firmly, feeling her clit hard like a little pea beneath my fingers. She was gasping more loudly now and I could feel little tremors running through her body as she got closer to a climax.

‘Don't stop.'

Her voice was urgent, sounding frightened that I might leave her high. But I had no intention of stopping; I wanted her to orgasm probably as much as she did. I was rubbing her as fast as I could now, my fingertips moving back and forth over the tip of her clit, making it almost vibrate beneath them. She was hanging on to me, her fingers grasping at the leather of my jacket, clawing at me as her orgasm approached. And then it was there and she buried her face in my shoulder to muffle her cries, her whole body shaking for what seemed like forever from the power of her climax. I held on to her, still rubbing her clit but more slowly now, winding down as her climax began to pass.

‘Thank you.' She gasped eventually. ‘I bloody well needed that.'

That, as far as I remember, was the first time I'd ever been thanked for making a woman come. My fingers came to a halt, still resting on her pussy but no longer moving. I was wondering what to do from there, still trying to phrase my "can we meet again" question, but once again Fran had other ideas.

‘Can you keep going?' She asked, pulling her face out of my shoulder to look into mine. ‘I know I'm greedy, but I need to come again.'

I nodded, smiling into the gloom. ‘That sounds good.'

It was good; for one thing it gave me more time to think of what to say and for another, my hand was resting right over her pussy and I wanted to explore her - it had been so long since I'd touched a woman other than Ellie.

Now I began gently stroking her pussy, letting my fingers comb lightly through her curls and then down over her labia. She sighed softly, burying her face back into the shoulder of my jacket as I gently played with her. She was wet, very wet, her slit was slippery to the touch and her juices were making a noticeable rivulet down from her entrance to her vagina. I guessed that the back of her nightie would be a little uncomfortable afterwards, but right then it didn't matter. Her wetness attracted me and I slid two fingers inside her, pushing them deep into her very slippery passage, hearing her groan softly into my ear as they went in.

‘Do it hard.' She whispered.

I didn't need a second asking; I pulled my fingers back and pushed them in again as hard and as deep as I could. She groaned again, holding me tight. I let them stay deep inside her, just wriggling them around, enjoying the moist warmth of her passage and listening to her breathing becoming ragged.

‘God, I'm glad John snores.' She gasped out suddenly, groaning again as my fingers writhed and jiggled inside her. ‘Make me come again.'

I smiled at her words because I understood what she wanted. I might be enjoying playing about inside her, but she wanted a straightforward fingering, something to bring her to orgasm hard - and soon. My fingers slid back and thrust forward, setting up an increasingly rapid rhythm until I was ramming them into her as hard and as fast as I could.

She was getting close again, breathing faster and louder, clutching me as tight as possible with her face pushed into my neck, kissing and nibbling at me. I was busy finger fucking her with my two fingers, but I managed to move my thumb around so that I could reach her clit at the same time, the ball of my thumb colliding with her button each time I thrust into her.

‘Oh, that's so good.' Her voice was tight with arousal.

Suddenly her hands were scrabbling at my jacket again, nails scratching at the leather, and once again her body began to shake as a climax flooded through her. She gasped and grunted, muffling her noises in her throat and pushing her face into my neck to keep herself quiet. I carried on plunging my fingers into her hole, slamming them in so hard that my hand crashed into her pussy, hurting it but sensing that was what she wanted. Slowly her orgasm subsided and she began to relax, and I slowed my fingers until they were just resting inside her while I listened with smiling satisfaction to her breathless panting.

She pulled herself away, sitting back upright so that my fingers slipped from her. I sat back so that we were just sitting beside each other again, although now her nightdress was pulled up to reveal her dark bush, something she had either not noticed or didn't mind. She closed her eyes, breathing deeply, while I took the chance for a cautious taste of my fingers. She tasted good too. Then, still with her eyes closed she blew out a deep breath through pursed lips, and then her hand came across and rested on my thigh, and there we sat until she regained her breath.

‘We've got to meet up again.' She said suddenly. ‘If you want to?'

‘I'd love to.' I told her, glad that the subject had been broached so abruptly and so easily.

‘We'll arrange it. I'd forgotten how good that could feel and I want to do it again.' She looked at me, her face a pale shape in the moonlight. ‘But right now there's something else I want to do.'

I wondered very briefly what she meant, but almost before my mind had formulated the query her hand found its way to my zip and was tugging it down. She fumbled her way inside and then gasped in surprise just as I had.

‘You're the same as me in the underwear department.' She giggled.

‘I didn't expect anyone to find out.' I told her. ‘I just pulled my jeans on and came out.'

‘Lucky me.' She said, quickly threading my erection through my fly. ‘That makes things easier.'

I had assumed that she was about to do for me more or less what I had done for her, but I soon discovered differently. She took a quick look around, including, I noticed, a glance across towards my house, and the clambered onto the bench, straddling me and then kneeling above my cock, carefully lowering herself onto it. That night was full of surprises, but that was probably the most unexpected. It was the last thing I thought could happen, not that I was complaining. The feel of my cock sliding into Fran's beautifully wet and warm vagina was absolute bliss. She let it go in full depth and then adjusted herself, her knees a little further apart and her hands resting on the back of the bench so that her face was looking down into mine. I put my hands on her hips as she started to move up and down on me and just sat there, too turned on to say anything. Any thought that we were both cheating on our respective spouses had been completely pushed away.

At first she moved slowly and sensuously but then, as she could see the effect she was having on me and as she too became hotter again, she began to speed up, rising and falling more and more quickly until she was bouncing on my lap as hard as she could. My arms went around her properly, pulling at the back of her nightdress so that I could find her skin, and then pushing it and her jacket out of the way until I could move around the front and cup her breasts in my hands. They felt wonderful, not as large as Ellie's and probably not as firm, but I could hold them easily, grasping them and pulling at them as she moved on top of me. Then I was gripping them tightly, my fingers digging into her soft flesh, holding them still while she moved so that she was pulling at her own breasts. I could tell by the little moans and gasps that she was enjoying the sensation, and so was I.

Before she had mounted me I'd been playing with her for quite a while without anything in return, so I knew it wouldn't take long before I came. Even so I was surprised how quickly I felt myself building towards a climax and how powerful the sensation would become. It seemed only a very few minutes before I could feel a welcome tightening in my balls and the familiar hot pressure began to build there.

‘I'm coming.' I warned her, not sure if she wanted me to come inside her.

She nodded and smiled as she bobbed up and down. ‘Good, let it happen.'

I could hardly stop myself from crying out when my dam burst, I know I groaned loudly with each spurt I shot up inside her, and I know she "mmm"ed with pleasure every time. I'm not sure if it was down to her, or the fact that I'd been without, or even simply the perilous situation, but it was the strongest and longest climax I had enjoyed for a very long time. Each spurt seemed to send a torrent of pleasure flooding through me right down to my fingers and toes. I pushed back at her, my bottom lifting from the seat, slamming myself up against her as she came down on me. Then ultimately I was spent and I just slumped back, looking up at her face, seeing her smile with contented fulfilment as she came down and rested, sitting on me with her pussy still around my cock.

She gazed down at me, smiling and waiting until I'd got my breath back, and then she leaned forward and kissed me full on the lips - remarkably our very first kiss.

‘Nice?' She asked.

‘Fucking gorgeous.'

I felt myself redden at my own language to a lady, but if she noticed in the dark it didn't seem to matter because she just chuckled her amusement. She leaned back to kiss me again, a brief kiss before she sat up, still impaled on my rapidly softening cock, and looked at me with a serious face.

‘Are you any good in a garden?' She asked.

I must have looked puzzled at the possible double entendre, because she rephrased it.

‘I meant, are you a good gardener?'

‘Not bad, why?'

‘Because tomorrow I'm going to put an advert for a gardener in the newsagent's window, and you can apply if you want to? Do you?'

I could see, I thought, where this might be heading, and I could see both good and bad in it.

‘Well, yes.' I said doubtfully.

‘Good. If you apply I'll make certain you get the job. John will pay you cash in hand and I'll give you a little bonus now and then. How does that sound?'

It sounded good, very good. She must have been thinking along similar lines to me while we were making love.

‘I take it the bonus would be paid in kind?' I asked sexily.

‘Oh yes. Very much in kind. Come up for interview Thursday afternoon when John's in and we'll make it official. We'd better do it that way, because he'll like to think he's the one who took you on, but I'll make sure that he does.'

It must have been the first time in history that an application for a vacancy has been processed with the prospective employee's cock still softening inside the soon-to-be employer's pussy, but who the hell was I to argue.